


Blooms in Brooklyn

by AdrenalineRevolver



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Minor Crutchie/Jack Kelly, Minor Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Period-Typical Homophobia, Spot Conlon is Bad at Feelings, Team Mom Spot Conlon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 00:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18487771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrenalineRevolver/pseuds/AdrenalineRevolver
Summary: Flowers start to bloom in Brooklyn. In the worst possible place, Spot's lungs.





	Blooms in Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> Working title: Distinguished lesbians save disaster gay from choking to death on his own feelings, more at 11.

It’s spring when he coughed up the first petal. The small blue petal sits in his hand staring up at him. It was an oddly beautiful messenger of death. 

Before she died his mother had taught him all about the flowers that may one day slip from his lips. She said that understanding them was vital to surviving the disease should he catch it. He was certain he wouldn’t. Yes it ran in his family, but he wouldn’t get it. He wouldn’t get caught up in that.

Yet here he was, looking down at what seems to be a forget-me-not. The symbol of both true love and ‘don’t forget me’. 

He threw it to the ground and tried not to think of whose eyes the color matched. 

It’s nearly summer before he’s caught. It had ramped up to the occasional full flower by now and had gotten harder and harder to hide. 

When Hotshot walked in on him bent over the washbasin, smacking his chest, and coughing up flowers he doesn’t make any stupid jokes. He doesn’t demand to know who the mighty king of Brooklyn is pining over. His shoulders drop and a look of pure agony mars his features. 

Spot threatened to soak him for staring at him like he’s some pitiful consumption riddled picture of helplessness. 

Hotshot just closed the door behind himself and begged him to take the day off. He actually begged. With tears in his eyes. 

That’s when it truly hit Spot that he’s going to die. 

A garden is going to grow up through his lungs and choke him to death. 

He can’t leave his newsies without letting them know why. Not who. He can’t tell them who. But he can tell them why. 

He doesn’t know what to say. There really isn’t anything to say. 

That evening he silently shows them a fistful of bloodied flowers. 

“That’s not fucking funny.” Kenny stared at the flowers as if they’re a dead rat. 

“No.” Myron clutched at his chest and started shaking his head. He got louder and louder as he began to panic. “No! That’s not! N-No!”

“It’s some fucking joke stop it.” Kenny elbowed him before turning to Hotshot. “What did you pay him?”

Hotshot just looked at the floor. 

Kenny grabbed Hotshot’s shirt and yanked him forward. “What. Did. You. Pay. Him?”

“Knock that shit o-“ Spot was cut off by a coughing fit, flowers and blood. 

Myron’s legs gave out from under him. Kenny just stood there as if he’s stopped registering anything. 

“Hey.” Spot kneeled in front of Myron. He’s helped him through things like this before, but he’d never been the cause. “It’s gonna be fine. Hotshot can run the business side of things, Kenny can keep the newsies from the other boroughs in check, and you’re great with the littles. Nothin’ will really change.” He kept his voice low both to avoid coughing again and to try for some form of comfort.

“You.” His voice was raw. “You’ll be gone.” 

“Well I was gonna age out some day.” He shrugged.

“T-this ain’t agein’ out!” Myron gripped his shirt and hid his face in Spot’s chest. “Please don’t go.” 

“I ain’t got a say.” He put his hand on the back of Myron’s head. Myron may have nerves that were frayed at every edge but he was a tough kid. One of the toughest that Spot knew. He’d be okay. 

“Who is it?” Kenny demanded. “If they fall for ya you won’t die, right?”

Spot shook his head. “They won’t.”

“Why? They married?” Kenny paused. “It a guy?” 

“Kenny.” Hotshot warned, his voice low. He probably already suspected.

They may as well not get their hopes up, besides what more could it ruin? 

“Yes.” He tried his best not to seem the least bit afraid. He wasn’t going to be afraid of them.

“So that’s it huh? You gonna lay down and die cause you’re a fairy?” Kenny crossed his arms. 

Hotshot grabbed Kenny by the collar and yanked him forward. “Knock this shit off before I knock your head off.” 

“Why? What’s it matter? He’s just gonna lay down and die like a dog.” Kenny grinned before adding. “Abandon us.” 

Hotshot reeled back to throw the first punch but Spot grabbed his arm and pushed him out of the way so he could get in Kenny’s face. 

Kenny was smiling the entire time Spot backed him into the wall. “You get one thing straight. I ain’t never gonna abandon any a you. Even you, you goddamn-“

“So why you here then?” He almost sounded giddy. “Prove it. Go make that guy fall for ya.” 

Spot froze. “What?” 

“Go prove you ain’t gonna give up on us. I’ll be right here ta soak when ya get back.” He started to push Spot towards the door. 

This well-meaning bastard. He wanted to make Spot mad, infuriate him. Force Spot to feel like he had to prove him wrong. He was more than willing to make Spot hate him to make him live. Kenny was never any good with any sort of feeling that wasn’t anger or excitement. He let Kenny go and sighed. “I appreciate the try.” 

“W-what try? Prove it. Y-ya…” He blinked rapidly as he tried to come up with something else to rile Spot. 

“All it’ll do is put everyone here in danger. He ain’t like that, I’ve seen him with girls.” Spot put his hand on Kenny’s shoulder. “I know what you was tryin’ to do. Thank you.”

The façade shatters in front of him and Kenny pulls him in for a hug. “Please. You gotta risk it. You gotta try.” Spot could hear the tears in his voice. It was honestly a little frightening. 

“Is it one of us?” Myron shakily got to his feet with Hotshot’s help. “C-cause if so we already love you. I-It wouldn’t be that different.”

Spot wasn't exactly sure how he should feel about that. Flattered? Touched? Disgusted? All three and then some? “I ain’t about ta put moves on any of my brothers.”

Kenny sobbed into his shoulder at the word ‘brothers’.

“Then who? Who ain’t-“ Myron paused. 

“Do-“

Before he can order him not to the name tumbles out of Myron’s mouth.

“Racetrack.” It’s not a guess. He’s rightfully certain. 

Kenny looked like hell when he leaned back. “That dumb Manhattan boy you won’t let us soak?” He grinned like he’s won the lottery. “No wonder!”

“Go talk to him. He’s at least gotta listen since you let him have Sheepshead.” Myron’s face lit up as he spoke. 

It was Hotshot that stepped in. He’ll be a good leader. “Race has a girl.”

The color drained out of the other two boys. 

“M-maybe you can fall for someone else?” Kenny tried. 

Spot carefully picked up one of the flowers that had stuck to his shirt and looked down at the soft blue petals. “Don’t hold this against him.”

Kenny hid his face in Spot’s shoulder again to cry.

Spot had to make room in his bed for not just one but all three of those assholes that night. From then on as well he’d sometimes find Hotshot sitting on the edge of his bed, Kenny pretending to already be asleep, or Myron standing in the middle of his room. He wasn’t a stranger to sharing his bed, whenever the younger kids had nightmares they might climb in bed with him, but this felt different. He suspected that they were trying to comfort him just as much as themselves. 

Hotshot would talk about certain decisions. How things were going. He was trying to make sure Spot knew things could run relatively smoothly after he was gone. 

Myron would reminisce about the things they’d done. Quietly recounting fights they’d won and people they’d met. He was trying to make sure Spot knew he wouldn’t be forgotten. 

Kenny would wait until he thought Spot was asleep. Then he’d whisper about all the ways he’d come up with for Spot to try and woo Racetrack. Spot nearly broke his cover when Kenny quietly recounted how “This shit took my mom. Please don’t let it take you too.” 

It got him thinking. How many of the others were here because their parents had choked to death on love? Would they be able to handle losing him too? 

Fuck. He had to risk it. 

It was almost fall when he was able to force himself to talk to him. By now he could feel them every time he breathed in. He won’t make it through winter. 

“Hey Spot!” Racetrack threw an arm around his shoulder with his trademark grin. “How you been?” 

“…Fine.” He couldn’t stop the lie. 

“Just fine? Haven’t seen ya in a while.” He almost sounded concerned. 

Racetrack had noticed that he wasn’t there? “I-“ A coughing fit overtook him, as if punishment for even thinking about it. 

Race snatches the bloody flowers out of his hand before Spot can hide them. “Spot…?”

“Maybe I ain’t that fine.” He admitted.

“Ain’t that fine? This could kill you.” Racetrack looked the flowers over. “Who is it? Can you fall for someone else? It’ll start it over. That’s what Jack would always do.”

“Kelly?” He could imagine Kelly getting this. 

“He’s been coughing up flowers for as long as I know him. Orchids, then poppies, then azaleas, then buttercups, and most recently red and white daisies. It gets close to killin’ him and then he falls for someone else. It’ll just start over! The flowers die back.” Racetrack rambled. 

“New ones take their place.” He couldn’t imagine that was sustainable, he also couldn’t imagine falling so terribly in love that many times. The realization that he was empathizing with Kelly of all people made him want to drown himself in the bay. 

Racetrack put his hand on Spot’s shoulder. “But you won’t die.” 

“Wouldn’t you want to?” He stared at Racetrack’s hand and sighed when Race pulled away. “Consistently reaching the point where you’re so in love with someone that you can’t be without them and then knowing it’s not requited again and again? It sounds like hell on earth.”

“You can find another girl and this one is bound ta feel the same! Any girl would wanna be with The Spot Conlon. The one messing you up is just…” He trailed off as he was looking for the right word.

“Not interested in men.” Spot said simply. 

“Oh.” Racetrack looked away. “Well no wonder! If she were she’d be all over ya. Who is it? Maybe talkin’ to her can do something? It helped Jack. He switched from buttercups to the daisies after talkin’ to K-“ He paused as he realized letting the name slip might not be a good idea. “His girl about how she wasn’t into guys. They’s the best a friends now. Even set her up with a girl like her.”

“Who?” He just wanted to shift the conversation. 

“Well that’s.” Racetrack stopped dead. “Oh. It ain’t Sarah is it?”

“Sarah?” He hadn’t ever heard of the girl but the flowers catching in his throat made it sound like his voice was catching for other reasons.

“Davey’s sister. Shit. Lets go talk to her.” Racetrack grabbed his hand and all but dragged him into Manhattan. Spot thought he was going to pass out from the lack of air. 

She turned out to be at some diner with the reporter girl that Jack must have been choking over. She was pretty; he knew that much, but all he could really focus on is how polar opposite she seemed to be from Racetrack. Where Racetrack had shining blue eyes that matched the sky Sarah had deep brown eyes that he was sure her girl would get lost in. Where Racetrack had waves of blonde hair Sarah had dark curls that her girl probably had the time of her life playing with. She was undeniably beautiful; he just…couldn’t make himself be interested in her like that. 

Race made some weak excuse to drag the reporter girl away and abandoned the two of them there. It was painfully awkward. 

“Hi,” The girl finally said. “I’m Sarah Jacobs.”

“Spot Conlon.” He held his hand out to shake hers. “Sorry about this.” 

“About what?” She cocked her head to one side. 

“Racetrack, he-“ He coughed into his elbow and grimaced at the couple of flowers. “He thinks its you.” 

Sarah’s horrified expression soon softens into one of understanding as she reached for one of the small blooms. “They match his eyes.”

Spot let out a laugh this girl was sharp. “That’s what I first thought.” 

“You should talk to him about it.” She pointed out.

“I…” What the hell, he’s dying and this girl knows what he’s talking about already. “What if it scares him off? What if someone finds out and tips off the cops? What if someone targets my guys because of it? What about his girl? What about his friends? A lot less risky to just…”

“Die?” She raised an eyebrow and looked thoroughly unimpressed. “What happens to your guys if you die? What happens to him if you die? Just as risky if you ask me.”

“How do I not then?” Spot asked. 

“What?” She didn’t quite get what he was saying.

“How do I not…not say anything?” He sighed. 

Sarah smiled and set her drink aside. “Mr. Conlon you’ve never openly talked about your feelings in your life, have you?”

“I ain’t exactly got time for ‘em.” He grumbled. “There’s always a new kid to train, someone sick to look after, food to make, laundry to clean, someone’s shitty parents to run off, a cop to avoid, something that’s broken and needs to be fixed, some damn fight to break up…” He was exhausted just from listing everything.

Sarah giggled and quickly put her hand on Spot’s arm. “I’m not laughing at you I promise. You just sound like my mother.”

“Fantastic.” He laid his forehead on the table to hide his face. 

“You protect your guys, which is a good thing. You just need to make a little room for you,” She lowered the tone of her voice and leaned in. “Otherwise it’s going to literally kill you.”

“You still haven’t let me in on how.” He fiddled with a fork her girl left behind. 

She thought for a bit. “Well, you’re pretty strong right?” 

“The strongest.” Maybe not at the moment, but still.

“Then count on that.” She said confidently. “If you tell someone how you feel and they react poorly it’s not like you can’t knock their teeth in. If Racetrack is scared off then you have your answer, if someone tells the cops you can beat them to a pulp and avoid the cops, if someone targets your guys over it you can bust them up in return, if his girl is mad at you it’s not like she can beat you in a fight, if the other boys from Manhattan give you a hard time you can probably take most of them just by yourself. Not that they’ll give you a hard time over the fact that you’re interested in guys.”

“How do you know that?” He sat up.

“Jack’s choking to death on daisies for Crutchie and everyone knows it but Crutchie. This time isn’t like before either.” She sighed and looked away, no doubt worrying over Jack. “Even when he tries to meet someone new it just seems to make him fall harder for the boy.” 

“Why tell me about that?” That was dangerous, right?

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I just lied to you and you’d insist it was different if I talked about how they’ve all been good to me.” She grinned knowingly.

“He does realize that kid is head over heels for him right? You could tell that at the strike.” He huffed remembering the puppy-dog eyes.

Sarah sighed deeply. “No, it seems like being a leader has no bearing on if you’re an oblivious moron.” 

Spot glared. “I feel targeted.”

“You should honey.” She took a sip of her tea and seemed completely unaffected by it.

“Hey guys!” Racetrack came bounding in. “Sorry about that.” 

“It’s no trouble. Spot and I had a good little conversation.” Sarah smiled. “He’s even going to show me Coney Island this Sunday.” 

“He is?” Both Racetrack and the reporter girl looked stunned. 

“I am?” Usually he spent his Sundays getting ahead on everything he had to do for the week, but one day would probably be fine. The guys needed the practice anyway. “I am. Miss Manhattan has never been.”

At this the reporter girl raised an eyebrow but said nothing. 

“I’ll take you too, if you want.”

Sarah saw her chance and took it. “Yeah! Racetrack and his girl can come too, we can make a day of it.” 

“His-“

“I’d love to!” Racetrack quickly interrupted. “But uh, my girl’s gone off to visit her parents. In Canada. So it’ll have to be just me.” 

Sarah and her girl exchange a look. “That sounds great.” 

“Alright, but I’m not sure I can pay for all a you.” Spot pointed out.

“I can pay for Sarah and myself.” Little miss reporter, whose name Spot should really learn, offered.

“Alright.” He nodded. “Looks like Racetrack is getting in for free then.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” Sarah smiled and nudged at Spot’s leg under the table. 

Wait; has he been tricked into a double date?

He ended up making his way back to Brooklyn in a daze. There was no way Racetrack saw it like that, but it felt…wonderful? Painful? He had no idea. 

When he got back he saw Princess bent over something in her lap with Myron watching her work. 

“Spot! You’re back early.” Myron hopped up; likely worried he’d come home because he wasn’t doing well.

“He can’t see yet it’s not done.” Princess insisted over her shoulder. 

“I ain’t lookin’.” He covered his eyes to prove it and carefully walked over to sit beside her. 

“How uh, how you doin’?” Judging by the sound Myron sat back down. 

“Not great, not terrible.” Spot shrugged. “I won’t be here this Sunday. Headed to Coney Island.”

“With who?” He could barely hide the excitement. 

“This girl from Manhattan, her girl, and Racetrack.” He tried to keep his voice neutral.

“Oh?” Myron sounded so very hopeful. Spot hated that he had to ruin that. 

“His girl isn’t in town or else she’d be coming.” He added.

“Oh.” Disappointment and even worse, sympathy.

Spot felt something being lowered on his head. 

“There!” Princess said happily. “Open your eyes!”

He opened her eyes to see her smiling face. She was missing one of her front two teeth, had a smattering of freckles, and her hair was wild. The thought of causing that face to frown was out of the question. “You know I can’t see it right?” 

“Then get up, get up!” She dragged him over to the cracked mirror in his room so he could see what she’d done. 

She’d made a flower crown. Forget-me-nots and dandelions were carefully woven together. For what seemed like the hundredth time he wasn’t sure what to say. 

“Do you like it?” She grinned as she grabbed his leg. 

“I…I love it.” It was impulsive, he knew that, but he sat down in front of her. “Do you know where these flowers come from?” 

She shook her head. “Not the blue ones.”

“Me. You see, sometimes when people fall in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same way they grow flowers inside them. It’s not a super common thing; it tends to run in families. Meaning, if your mom or dad had it you might too.” He toyed with her little hand. 

“Does it hurt?” She asked. 

“A little. It depends on where they grow. Some people it grows in the stomach, that’s not so bad. Others have it in their lungs, that’s a lot more dangerous.” He wasn’t sure how quickly to ease her into this. 

Her grip increased and fear was starting to seep into her voice. “Where’s yours?”

“My lungs.” He sighed and bit back a cough that wants to come with it.

Princess hugged him tightly. “You’re gonna be okay, right?”

“I’m gonna try.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I’m going to do my best. But I want you to know something. If I ain’t alright you’re gonna be. Hotshot, Kenny, and Myron will make sure of that. In no time you’ll be runnin’ all of Brooklyn with an iron fist. Nah, all of New York.”

“I’d rather you be okay.” She whispered. 

“I know, that’s why I’m gonna do my best to be. That’s also why you’re gonna be the best leader Brooklyn’s ever had.” He leaned back and kissed her forehead. He meant it; even at this age she was focused on making sure others were okay. With a bit of practice she’d take to it like a natural.

That night she crawled in bed with him. It was a little crowded with Hotshot taking up so much room in his sleep but Spot didn’t mind. 

Spot knew his time was running out on Sunday morning. His breath came in shuttering gasps and he could smell the flowers constantly. The temptation to reach down his throat and try to rip them out was almost insufferable as he felt the stems moving with each breath. Could he even do that? Rip them out? Wouldn’t that be like the surgery? Later maybe. He’d made a promise. 

He found it easier to tolerate when he didn’t try to talk so when he greeted the trio it was just with a wave. He could tell they were worried but thankfully they didn’t mention it. 

The hall of mirrors was fun, as it always is. Spot managed to win prizes for everyone at the various games as well. They loaded up on candies and other treats. Well, the others did, Spot wasn’t exactly hungry. 

By sunset he couldn’t breathe more often than he could. Every other breath was completely in vain. 

“Why don’t we go up in the Ferris wheel?” Racetrack suggested. 

“You two go along.” Sarah smiled and pushed them towards the front of the line. “I’m not a big fan of heights.”

“But you-“ Racetrack got cut off as the door was quickly shut behind them. “I’m pretty sure she hangs out on the roof with Davey…” He shrugged and sat down across from Spot. 

As they reached the top he was really struggling. At least he could see all of Brooklyn from here. If he was going to die he was glad he’d get one last view. 

“Spot, you okay?” Racetrack wasn’t looking out the window at all as they came to a halt at the top. 

Spot could see Sarah handing the operator money at the bottom, crafty.

“Spot.” Racetrack insisted. 

He thought about lying. There really wasn’t a point. He shook his head and pointed to his throat. 

“Well,” He laughs of all things. “That doesn’t bode well for me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of dark crimson rose petals. 

Spot gasped on a reflex. It was a mistake. He was coughing and sputtering, trying desperately to regain his composure. 

At some point Racetrack had hopped up and sat down beside him. He threw his arm around Spot and it was agony. “T-try breathing through your nose. I-it’ll be okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. I just. I wanted to make things right. More right.“

Spot couldn’t stand the babbling. He was acting as if he’d done something wrong. What kind of asshole wouldn’t love Racetrack? Overly happy twit pretending to be dumber than he was just to be more charming, he was damn near perfect. He’d blame the lack of oxygen but he just had to shut Race up. 

“I don’t really have a girl I just-“

He yanked Race forward and kissed him. It was panicked and tasted of blood but Spot never wanted it to end. Especially when Racetrack clung to him in return rather than pushing him away. 

Spot’s vision started to go hazy at the edges when Racetrack pulled back gasping. “It’s you, Spot. I love you.” 

Dimly, he could hear Racetrack yell his name as he passed out. 

When he woke he was staring up at the ceiling of the Brooklyn lodging house. How? Had they paid for the surgery somehow? That couldn’t be.

“He’s awake!” He heard Sarah yell as she rushed over. “Racetrack wake up!” 

His heart fluttered when he heard Racetrack’s name. Had he been there the entire time? The surgery couldn’t have happened then if just his name still made him feel like this. 

“Spot. Spotty.” Racetrack leaned over the bed. He looked like hell. Dark circles were under his eyes. Oh. Racetrack had it too. That’s why he’d panicked. Dying on it’s own had been terrible but Race dying over someone not loving him? That was unacceptable. Spot had kissed him. Race had said…He said he loved him? “Calm down for a second, your throat is pretty messed up.”

“Do you know where you are?” Sarah’s voice was the quiet sort of calm that anyone over ten knew was fake. 

He nodded. 

She sighed in relief as Race shot her a confused look. “Do you know how you got here?” She added.

He shook his head.

“You passed out from a lack of air in the Ferris wheel. When it came back around Racetrack was actively pulling flowers out of your throat. Thankfully Katherine knows CPR or else you may not have made it.” Sarah placed her hand on his leg. 

“Sarah ran all the way here and got the guys so they could carry you back. Spot you were out for two days. The only time you even moved was to hack up a whole bouquet. Last night you coughed up this thing.” Racetrack grabbed something off the windowsill. It was one of the flowers stuffed into a tin can as a pot. “It had these nasty blood soaked roots and everythin’. Hotshot said we had to plant it or you’d die.” 

“That’s a superstition Racetrack.” Sarah explained. 

“I ain’t about to risk it.” He set the flowers back in the windowsill. “Planted mine too.”

Spot tried to lean up at that. So Race was going to live? And so was he? Racetrack was, no, is in love with him? That hadn’t just been some oxygen-deprived dream? 

“Woah there,” Racetrack put his hand on Spot’s chest to keep him down. “You ain’t gettin’ up anytime soon. You almost bit it. Sarah, Kaith, and the guys have enough money laid out for ya that you don’t have to sell a single day until next year.”

Race laughed when Spot immediately frowned and opened his mouth to complain. 

“No talkin’ either. I know it ain’t your style but you’d make ‘em do the same thing. They’s been tryin’ to stay up all night lookin’ after you. Kenny even let me know that if you didn’t make it the only think keepin’ me alive was that you asked ‘em not to soak me over this.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “He changed his tune a little when I showed ‘em my own flowers.” 

Spot clumsily pulled him down for a kiss. 

“I’ll let the others know you’re alright.” The smile on Sarah’s face could be heard in her tone. 

He gave her a thumbs-up as she left. He may not be in-love with that girl but damn did he love that girl. 

Spot had barely gotten to tangle his fingers in that ridiculous hair of Racetrack’s when the door flew open again. Before he could even pull away they’re jumped on by enough people that the bed creaks under the weight.

“I knew you’d be fine!” Kenny outright lied.

“No you didn’t. You cried.” Princess pointed out with the painful honesty that only a kid can manage.

Kenny quickly readjusted himself. “You did too! So did Myron!”

“I’m nine.” She deadpanned.

“I always cry.” Myron added with a grin. 

Hotshot snorted in laughter and sat on the edge of the bed. “Be gentle, he pretty much coughed up his lungs yesterday.”

“Does this mean uncle Racetrack will move in?” Princess asked. 

“Uncle?” Racetrack practically squeaked. 

“He’ll be here more often.” Spot winced as he sat up. His throat was absolutely raw. “Manhattan needs him but he’ll be around.”

“Good.” She nodded, her little braids bouncing. “Cause if he makes you sick again I’ll soak ‘em so bad nobody’ll ever recognize him again.” She gave a bright smile and wrapped her arms around Spot. 

A chill went down Racetrack’s spine when he realized she was deathly serious. 

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that Princess.” Hotshot glanced back over his shoulder. “Racer knows the score.” 

“Hey, cool it.” Spot warned. “He was in the same place. Now you bastards let me sleep.”

“Spot Conlon asking to rest?” Kenny laughed. “Must have really almost died.” 

“He’s gotta rest to be able to heal right.” Hotshot stood and helped Princess off. 

“Like he’s actually gonna rest.” Kenny whispered just to be elbowed in the side. 

“Small ears, dipshit.” Myron hissed.

“Small ears that just threatened to maim somebody!” Kenny could be heard arguing as he headed out the door. 

Princess was the last one out but paused in the doorway and spun around. “I mean it.”

“I know you do.” Spot waved her on. Once she shut the door he sighed and laid back. “She doesn’t mean it. She couldn’t hurt a fly.”

Racetrack gaped at him. “The hell she doesn’t! If you ever even cough again she’ll have my head!”

“Then it sounds like you’re stuck with me.” He closed his eyes to try and relax. 

“Sounds good ta me.” Racetrack wrapped an arm around him and pressed his lips to his temple. 

It’s winter when the roses that Racetrack coughed up bloom. They looked perfect next to the forget-me-nots.

**Author's Note:**

> Sarah: talk about ur feelings  
> Literally every boy from brooklyn: you can just do that??


End file.
